The Beauty of Silence
by happy4sookie
Summary: Sarah Singer is a great hunter with only one weakness: Winchesters. Sarah meets Sam and sparks fly. What happens when we throw Dean into the equation? Sam/OC/Dean love triangle
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is my first ever fanfic, so I'd really love some feedback (okay, tons and tons of feedback). I'll only continue the story is someone tells me to. I hope you enjoy it!**

**Summery: Sarah Singer is Bobby's niece who he is overly protective of. Sam and Sarah meet and sparks fly. Now through Dean into the equation. This takes place somewhere soon after Dean is brought back from Hell. The seals are being broken, but the main character Sarah isn't involved.**

One summer evening, Sam Winchester received a call from Bobby Singer. Bobby had a lead on a shape shifter in Northern Kansas. The shape shifter had been murdering seemingly random townspeople (though Bobby assumed there must be a link between them) and the local authorities were baffled. However, Bobby was too busy at the moment on a hunt of his own to follow the lead, so he decided to pass it off to the Winchester boys. Unfortunately for Bobby, Sam was feeling independent and decided to take on this hunt solo. After informing a surprisingly indifferent Dean, Sam committed some Grand Theft Auto, took a good amount of supplies from the Impala, and headed east. As Sam took a left onto Route fifty-four, a woman named Sarah Singer was putting on her shoes and heading out into the night to see if she could find the hiding place of the shape shifter she'd been hunting for two weeks. On that particular evening, she gained nothing new save a scratch on her arm from a thorn bush in the shadows. She thought the night was a complete and utter failure, but it had actually served its purpose: it brought her into the next day, the day she would meet Sam Winchester.

It was July 18th, and Sam entered the local Diner to meet with the co-workers of Lauren Kissing (the first killer in the series of rash murders).

"Hello, I'm Agent Walker with the FBI," he flashed his badge at an elderly waitress named Gloria Post, "Can I ask you a few questions about Ms. Lauren Kissing?"

From about five feet away, Sarah heard 'FBI' and frozen mid-bite. Being the good hunter that she was, Sarah had desecrated a multitude of graves, stolen thousands of credit cards, and committed countless other crimes. She continued her lunch, however, when she heard his line of questioning.

"Did Lauren start to act strangely before the… um… attack?"

"Well, about a day before she, well, she just wasn't herself. She didn't come to work (that was the only day she'd _ever_ missed)," Gloria answered, "and she didn't say anything to her friends when they stopped her on the street, and- I went through all this with the police before!" Not wanting to think about the awfulness of the past few weeks, she tried to just get back to work.

"I know it's difficult going through all of this again, but we just need to go over the facts one more time," Sam continued, putting on his compassionate eyes.

"Well, if you just need the facts," Gloria spoke even faster, happy to have found her out, "you can talk to the reporter. I told her everything- plus she writes everything down in that nice book of hers (she needs to keep track of everything for the article, you know), so she'll remember everything better than little ol' me," She continued without letting Sam get one word in, "and you're in luck- she's sitting in that booth right over there," She pointed her finger at the brunette taking a bite of her eggs, "I'll even send some pancakes over to you- on the house!"

Sam tried to refuse, but eventually gave in and walked over to the reporter. On seeing her he immediately found her attractive- she was confident-looking with a face that seemed as if she should be off to win a prince's heart (though those weren't his exact thoughts) and eyes that were a more intense blue than he had ever seen before in his life. This opinion of her changed slightly, though, when he saw her take off almost a whole slice of toast in one bite. Maybe she wasn't the type to marry a prince after all.

"Hi, I'm agent Sam Walker, can I ask you a few questions?" and with those twelve words, he began a conversation that would last five hours. At first, they had a basic question and answer, FBI agent and witness type back and forth, but when she made a remark about one of the murderers going "all Heathcliff" it prompted Sam to ask, "What was her Catherine, then?" From there they forgot about the crimes completely, becoming more intrigued with the person across from them and less concerned about the shape shifter. For the next few hours, they were normal people, living normal lives. It was like the first date that Sarah had never had and that Sam had forgotten the feeling of. There weren't any strings. There wasn't any baggage. They were pretending to live the lives of normal people, pretending to be someone, anyone, other than themselves, yet Sarah was telling her own life stories (somehow, they never had anything to do with the job: it's incredible how many seemingly normal moments a hunter can have throughout her lifetime) and Sam was talking about things he loved, things he never usually shared with anyone. They were falling for each other, right there in the Mayfield Diner. It wasn't until Sarah laughed, however, that Sam recognized the feelings he had, and it wasn't until she noticed the way he was watching her talk that Sarah saw her own growing attachment. In that moment, in that booth, they weren't scared of the feelings that normally led them to push others away. Incredibly, they were a perfect match. Both were smarter than their job, both secretly hated motel rooms and the smell of a recently fired gun, both missed their fathers, both wished they could live normal lives, and both knew that they never could. Neither had ever been very suave and capable when it came to romance (though they weren't exactly inept), but that day, sitting across from one another, neither were ever at a loss for anything to say. They were able to talk for hours without pause and never run out of conversation.

Then, in the middle of a sentence, Sam's phone began to ring,

"Excuse me one second," Sam reluctantly left her as she nodded and then spoke into the phone, "Hello?"

"Hey, Sammy!" Dean exclaimed as he pumped gas into the Impala, "How's the case coming?"

Sam, who had forgotten the case entirely until his brother mentioned it, absentmindedly lied, "Fine. Look, man, I'm kinda busy right now."

"What? R'ya gonna get laid or something?"

"Shut up."

"Oh my God, you're actually with a chick?" Dean laughed in surprise and mockery, "Well, I don't want to keep you from that!"

"Goodbye, Dean." Sam replied, annoyed, as he hung up the phone to the sound of amused laughter, "Sorry about that," he turned his attention back to Sarah.

"No problem," Sarah responded, "Who was it?"

"My brother, Dean."

"Well, he seemed just delightful," she kidded.

"Yeah, he can be a real pain in my ass, but what can ya do- he's my big brother," For a moment Sam paused to think about Dean, "D'you have any brothers or sisters?"

"I did, a brother, he died when I was really little, though," She never shared this much with anyone, but Sam was different.

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

Sobered by tragedy and snapped out of their flirtatious daze by the phone call from Dean, the hunters independently decided that they needed to return to the shape shifter. Sarah told Sam that she needed to return home to organize her notes (which wasn't entirely a lie) and Sam replied that he needed to do likewise. He walked out of the diner a few moments before her, still thinking back on the hours he'd spent, imagining what it would be like to live that every day, to see her every day. He was ignorant to the fact that she was walking a few steps behind him, but she thought they might be staying at the same motel. She conidered asking him where he was staying, in her mind she hastened her pace, fell into step with him, and then asked her question in a sophisticated way. But thinking something and actually plucking up the courage to do it are two very different things. For almost two blocks, she chickened out, then she felt it was too late to say anything, and then she decide just to screw it.

"Hey Agent Walker!" She piped up, "You don't happen to be staying at the Bluebird Motel, do you?" she continued, after he'd turned around.

"How long have we been going in the same direction?" He asked, slightly embarrassed.

"Oh, a while," She was surprisingly cool in her manor, slightly mocking in her tone.

"I can't believe I missed that."

"Yeah, you're a real failure as an FBI agent." She joked.

"Can I walk you to your room anyway?"

Sarah nodded in a knowing, womanly way, though in that moment she was as a girl walking side by side with a boy that she has a crush on: flips and flops in her abdomen and a slight smile on her lips that wouldn't go away. As they continued, they were hit by what seemed like hours of uncomfortable silence.

"You can call me Sam."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who subscribed to my story, and sorry about the long wait. Hope you enjoy! Please RnR!**

**Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure I'm not Erik Kripke. Sorry.**

The last leg of Sam and Sarah's walk back to the motel was filled with laughter about Sam's old dog, Bones. As they continued to the door of Sam's room (he was on first floor, Sarah on second- though she would never have let FBI in her room, anyway. It was filled with guns, fake IDs, and newspaper clippings of the recent murders.), Sam considered inviting her inside just to talk. He hadn't spoken this much since Jessica. Sarah, on the other hand, was hit with guilt like a punch to the gut. She was walking outside on a beautiful day, hoping for sex from a very tall, very muscular, very handsome man she'd just met, while her mother was sitting in hell being tortured in the place of her daughter. Who was she to laugh while her parents were suffering?

Survivors guilt (if you could call it that), had plagued her for months. Every time she laughed, or smiled, she felt like crying. Every happy feeling was promptly replaced with remorse and sadness. Her mother died for her. Her father was gone. Why was she alive again? These thoughts passed through her mind almost constantly. They were her mantra, the chant that always returned. To most people, this would seem bad. She would seem really damaged and stuck in the past, but the truth was that this was progress. For seven weeks after coming back, she'd sat in Bobby's guest room, just staring at the wall. She barely ate, rarely slept, and didn't utter one syllable. She just shut down. Bobby said it was the shock of discovering both her parents dead and it suddenly being six months after the last day she could remember, but she knew he was wrong. Everything from the six months prior was hazy, but it was there, somewhere, locked in the back of her mind, trying its damndest to get out. She could remember pain and laughter mingled with screams and fear. For seven weeks it paralyzed her as she began to put the pieces together, as she began to feel more pain and self-loathing. Being able to laugh today was almost a miracle.

"So…" Sam began, and she plastered a fake smile on her face. She'd gotten good at that.

"So…" she replied, attempting with all her might to be suggestive. She failed miserably.

Sam panicked and Sarah didn't find the guts to invite herself in. Saying their goodbyes, Sam turned to unlock his door and Sarah walked down the hallway to the stairs. She regretted not saying anything, and he felt stupid for not just asking her in. Suddenly, she did something very unlike herself.

"Wait!" she called as she spun around to look back at him.

In a moment, he had taken her cue, walked up to her, taken her face in his hands, and kissed her soft lips with passion. She responded equally enthusiastically. Taking his hair in one hand, and holding his neck with the other, she rose onto her toes in a futile effort to lessen the effect of their noticeable height difference. Without separating, they stepped haphazardly back to Sam's motel room. Somehow, he managed to unlock the door without unlocking their lips, but the door was opened and they stumbled inside, his hands moving down to the hem of her shirt as hers rested on his chest, beginning to loosen his tie. Impatient, he pulled away from her and quickly pulled off all the clothing on his torso, exposing his well-toned arms and stomach. As quickly as Sam had, Sarah removed her shirt and unzipped her skirt. Stepping out of it, she replaced her hands in his hair and kissed him more deeply than before, their tongues conversing in a new language. He picked her up, her legs wrapped around his hips, his sex pressing into hers, and lowered her onto the bed, moving his mouth down to her collarbone. She gasped when her attention was drawn downward further, and he grew rougher. His mouth returned to hers with an almost violent urgency as they tore off their remaining clothes, and he plunged himself deep inside her. They continued for a while longer, at once using each other and bearing themselves wholly to one another. It was with this strange mix of selfishness and false opennesss that their relationship began- Sam believing himself to be with a young writer who would never mean more than the hope for a normal life that he once held , and Sarah believing that she was bedding an FBI agent who she could never see after this night of playing pretend, being a person she could only wish to be.

At one in the morning, they lay side by side, naked down to their souls, yet never looking to see what was really blanketed under the darkness of their ignorance.

Six hours later, Sarah's phone rang. Still basking in the glow of sex, she lifted herself off of Sam and wrapped herself in a sheet as she finds her phone. Never once did she stop to wonder why her phone was ringing so early in the morning, never mind why it was ringing at all. She answered the phone in innocence, but she lost it was soon as she heard the news. Sam had begun to stir with the sound of her voice.

"I'm on my way," she finished and hung up the phone.

"What's going on?" Sam was confused.

She could barely get a sentence out. "Um- my, um, my uncle. He's, uh, he's had an accident. Hunting. He's- God- he's in the hospital. And I, so I, I gotta go. Sorry. I just gotta…" she rambled distractedly as she dressed herself, and before Sam could even respond she was out of the door, all memory of normalcy gone with her.


End file.
